


The Laundromat

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: MCU, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, F/M, First Kiss, First Meeting, Fluff, Sad Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3964870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint just needs some clean clothes and for his ears to stop ringing. What he gets is a friendly conversation with Laura, who seems like she's known him for years, even though they just met over a stubborn bag of laundry. Also, Unrepentant fluff. One of many possible first meetings for these two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Laundromat

The book is _almost_ distracting enough. It’s some paperback he’d found thrown under the bleachers last night after the show, and it’s a sci-fi book, which is Clint’s favorite kind. Under the dingy yellow light of the laundromat, as the droning shhppt, shhppt, of the dryers fills the air and the smell of dirt and soap mingles together, it’s all almost distracting enough. But the pain of the bruises along Clint’s stomach and the ringing in his ears and the thudding headache that all can’t be washed away with aspirin stay front-and-center in Clint’s head, and he has trouble concentrating on the book.

Trick’s yells echo in his head, too, and Barney’s silence rings louder than his ears. Clint closes the book and puts his head in his hands, rubs his temples, and hears – too soft, way too soft – the sound of the bell on the door to the laundromat. He looks up and watches a young woman lug a large canvas bag of clothes into the room.

She has jet-black hair and a soft, round face with olive skin, and her nose makes him smile. It’s an elf-like nose, turning up a little at the end, and her mouth is thin and pressed in frustration with the bag, which has gotten caught on something on the floor.

Clint puts down his book and stands. “You want a hand?”

She looks him over from head to toe, and grins. “Sure, thanks.”

He was wearing dirt-stained jeans and a plain forest green t-shirt, and his favorite ratty old purple Converse. He looks at her white sleeveless blouse and blue jeans tucked into brown cowboy boots and finds himself staring. She gestures to the bag and he shakes himself out of it with a shy smile. He wiggles the bag and frees it from whatever it was caught on. “Where do you want it?” he asks.

She looks around. “Just here is fine,” she answers, pointing to a nearby basket, so he lifts the bag and places it in the basket. Only the muscles in his stomach decide to bitch at him at that moment and he can’t hide the wince or help the way it steals his breath for a moment. He puts a hand on the nearest washer and pulls in a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” she asks, and her voice is lilting but confident, like she could actually help him if he’d let her. She eyes him with concern as he waves her off.

“Yeah, sorry,” he breathes. “I’m okay. I think I pulled something at work last night.”

She says something else, but he doesn’t hear it all. He frowns. Something’s wrong with his ears. He rubs at one and looks up at her. “Uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you,” he says, and wraps his arms around his chest and tries to swallow the thread of fear creeping in.

“I asked where you work,” she says. “I haven’t see you around this laundromat before, and I’m a regular. Plus, are you sure you’re okay?”

He likes her voice, even as it’s a little muted and drowned out by the sounds of the laundromat and whatever’s going on with his head, and he likes her eyes, kind and not judging. He usually tries to avoid talking to townies because they’re either looking for a fight (or maybe he is, to be fair) or they’re possibly nice people that he’ll never see again. For some reason he wants to talk to this woman. “I’m with the circus out at the fairgrounds,” he says with a sheepish grin. “It can be rough work sometimes,” he adds with a shrug.

He leans on a washer as she pulls clothes out of her bag and loads it up.

“A couple of my friends went out there last night. They said it was a good show,” she says as she shoves her clothes into the machine. Clint notices that she’s not sorting or anything. He takes that as a good sign.

“Yeah?” he replies, and puts his hands in his pockets. “You didn’t go?”

“I had to work,” she says, and she closes the lid and pushes quarters into the slots to start the washer. She goes to move to the next washer, but Clint’s standing in front of it without thinking. She raises an eyebrow and he gets the message.

“Oh, sorry!” he says, and shifts down a washer. “Where do you work?”

She frowns and says, “I wait tables at a local diner. Folks actually tip pretty well around here, so it makes the grease stains worth it,” she says and she throws a stained red t-shirt in the washer.

Clint is almost eighteen and he hates the circus now, can’t see a future that doesn’t suck the life out of him, and Barney is slipping further and further away with each beating Trick lays on Clint. When he looks at this woman he sees something different, and it startles him.

“My name’s Clint,” he says, and holds out a hand.

She grins at him, and he loves the way her eyes dance. “I’m Laura. What do you do with the circus?”

He might hate the circus life at this point, but telling what he does still sends a thrill of pride down his back. “I’m an archer and I have a center-ring act I’ve been building for a while,” he says, and smiles wide.

She honest-to-god giggles when he says it, though, and he wonders if he’s misjudged her kindness for a moment. It must show on his face, though, because then she straightens up and reaches out for his arm. Her hand is electric against his skin and he looks down at it.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and then she says something else, but since he’s distracted by her hand, he doesn’t hear her.

He looks up and blows a breath out of puffed cheeks. “I’m sorry. Something’s funny with my ears today. I didn’t hear you.”

She nods and cocks her head. “I said that my friends were going on about a young blond archer.” She smiles as his cheeks flush. “They said you were fantastic. And hot. They said you were hot.”

He laughs and postures a little, so she giggles again.

“You are,” she says, and then puts a hand over her eyes and ducks. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

He laughs again and a feeling loosens in his chest. “Thanks, I guess. I’m feeling pretty crappy today, so that’s nice to hear.”

They stand and talk until Clint’s dryer buzzes, and then she shifts around and helps him fold his laundry, including his boxers and socks like it’s no big deal to fold a stranger’s underwear. When they’re finished, they keep talking. She’s only a year older than him, and she’s working to save money and go to school for some sort of design program.

“Do you like this town?” Clint asks, finally.

She shrugs. “It’s okay. I’ve lived a few places and there’s worse, but the rent is cheap enough that I can save my money. Next year I should be able to apply for a school about an hour away and move.”

He watches her talk, and he likes the way she seems calm. She seems like she just . . . _handles_ her shit. They’re both young to be on their own, and he hasn’t pressed her for details beyond what she offered (“My parents didn’t agree with my life choices”), but she just seems to be handling it. He envies her a little, thinking of the fear flooding through him every time Trick corners him after a show these days. How he’s got a little money saved in a fucking sock in his trailer, but it’s not enough to get him anywhere, really.

“Clint?” he hears her ask, and he looks up at her again. He feels like he could lose himself in her eyes, and like his name in her mouth sounds different than how anyone in his life has ever said it before. It’s like she knows him already, like they’ve been friends for years. It’s startling.

He looks up and stares quietly into her eyes for a moment. “I have to go. I get in trouble if I’m late, and I don’t need any more trouble right now,” he says with a shrug, and he gathers his laundry into the plastic tub he brought with him. “If you want to catch a show, just give the ticket guy this,” he says, and reaches into his wallet for a spare ticket he always carries and never uses. They all get one every couple shows. Carson calls it marketing.

She reaches out and takes it. “Okay, thanks,” she says, and holds his gaze for a moment. Time stops for Clint and he watches a smile spread across her face, lighting her eyes like stars. “It’s been real nice to meet you.”

Clint nods and turn for the door. “Yeah, you too.”

As he’s walking out, she calls, “Clint!”

He turns and she comes close. “It sounds to me like you’re not sure about the circus right now,” she says gently. “If you end up needing a place to crash, I know a couple guys here in town you could stay with for a bit, okay?”

No one has given Clint a present since his parents died years ago, but suddenly Clint remembers the thrill of getting handed a package wrapped in a pretty ribbon with a mystery inside. He remembers the warmth and trust, and it’s heady. He nods. “Thanks,” he says. “I’ll keep it in mind. It’s been amazing talking to you today, Laura. Take care of yourself.”

She nods, leans in, and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Good luck, Clint.”

He takes a deep breath and walks away before he does something really ridiculous. He sees her in the audience the next night, and then he’s gone, on to the next town. Two months later, when he’s left lying in the dust bleeding from a knife wound, he thinks of Laura, and when he finally gets released from the hospital, he uses the money he’s saved in a sock for a bus ticket back to that town, and he sits in the laundromat on a rainy August day and waits.

He goes back again for three days, until she finally walks in.

He looks like shit, he knows. He’s still exhausted and washed out from the emergency surgery, still has pain medication he’s taking, and his ears never really recovered from the hits he took the night before he met her the first time, but when he sees her again and she smiles as bright as a field in the summertime, his heart rate settles, his limbs feel loose and relaxed, and he feels like he might be home.


End file.
